Grief
by martiansarepeopletoo
Summary: The life of John Watson as he learns to survive without the great man he once knew. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Denial

I have recently discovered that I am a diehard Johnlock shipper, and although I've tried to keep the Sherlocking to a minimum I just can't stop myself with this one. There isn't any romantic Johnlock in this chapter yet as such, but it will be appearing later on :) enjoy!

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><p><em>I whisper goodbye, I swear it's not for the last time,<em>  
><em>I know it's not easy,<em>  
><em>This could never be easy,<em>  
><em>Five thousand miles with traffic of you in my mind,<em>  
><em>There'll be pain, there'll be glory,<em>  
><em>But you don't need to worry,<em>

_Cause my heart will wait,_  
><em>My heart will wait for you,<em>  
><em>My heart will wait,<em>  
><em>My heart's gonna wait for you, always.<em>

**_- My Heart Will Wait, Joe Brooks_**

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><p>He hasn't cried since it happened.<p>

He knows he probably should have done, he should get it out of the way, and it might even make him feel a bit better.

But he hasn't. And he doesn't.

He knows why, of course. It's because he can't get it through his head. That Sherlock is gone, that Sherlock is dead, is such an alien idea to him that his brain has disregarded it as nonsensical rubbish.

He just can't believe that it can possibly have happened.

Of course, he spoke at the funeral, and although he had referred to his genius friend in the past tense during the eulogy, the words felt odd in his mouth.

Getting home, he refuses Mrs Hudson's offer of a cup of tea. Easing himself into his armchair, he stares at the empty leather seat opposite him and remembers.

Sherlock, crouched in front of the pink suitcase.

Sherlock, playing his violin at three in the morning.

Sherlock, shooting the wall in his boredom.

Sherlock, sitting deep in thought with his fingertips pressed lightly together.

Sherlock.

So many memories.

He wonders what he should be feeling. Sorrow? Anger? Pain? Hatred? Loss?

He doesn't know.

Something catches his eye. A photograph, on the mantelpiece. Not framed, just lying there, reflecting the soft glow of the lamp.

He stands, slowly, walks over.

Picks it up.

It's from the time Sherlock arrived back at the flat, covered in blood, after spending the day at the butcher's stabbing a dead pig with a harpoon. He hadn't been in a great mood that day, not being one to get messy if he could avoid it, but he was so soaked and looked so ridiculous that he hadn't been able to stop himself from laughing when John had burst into hysterics at the sight of him. Seizing a rare opportunity, John had snapped a photo on his camera, and although Sherlock had probably noticed, he didn't comment. Now, he looks at the picture, printed off just days before – before the accident, for Mrs Hudson. She'd wanted a picture of him looking happy, and as it was one of the few in existence featuring a Sherlock showing genuine emotion John had volunteered it. After what had happened, of course, they had forgotten about it.

'You're not dead,' he whispers to the picture. 'You're not. I know you, remember? One hundred percent.'

The face in the picture keeps smiling with its frozen lips, unable to respond.

'Stop this, please,' he whispers. 'I know you're out there somewhere. This was just some stupid thing, and you didn't fall, and you're still – out – there - '

Somehow, he's ended up slumped on the floor, the photograph clutched in his hand, and for the first time he feels damp tears on his face.

'Come back. For me – please.'

The nightmares come that night, and he knows, as he wakes with a start in the middle of the night, his body drenched in cold sweat, that they are not going to leave.

After the incident with the photograph, he cries all the time. And that's when he knows the denial stage is over. The pain has arrived, raw and harsh and unyielding, and he is certain that he will never be okay again.

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><p>Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I promise Johnlock in the next couple of chapters (if that's an incentive to keep track of this story :D)<p>

Iliketotastetherainbow x


	2. Anger

So here's the next chapter :) just to let everyone know, this story is now going to be a joint fanfic between me and my friend **KCornish13** - I've written the previous chapter and this one, and then she'll be writing the next three, then I will write the final chapter. So it'll be three chapters each, and I hope you enjoy them!

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><p><em>I've been lost, I've been out, I've been losing<em>  
><em>I've been tired, I'm all hurt and confusion<em>  
><em>I've been mad, I'm the kind of man that I'm not<em>  
><em>I'm going down, I'll be coming back fighting<em>  
><em>I may be scared and a little bit frightened<em>  
><em>But I'll be back, I'll be coming back to life<em>  
><em>I'll be coming back to life<em>

_And I'm a little bit lost without you_  
><em>And I'm a bloody big mess inside<em>  
><em>And I'm a little bit lost without you<em>  
><em>This ain't a love song, this is goodbye.<em>

**-This Ain't A Love Song, Scouting For Girls**

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><p>John hates him.<p>

He _hates_ him.

Sherlock is everywhere he looks – in the flat, around the city, at the hospital – everywhere.

And he hates it.

Everyone he knows is apparently insistent on bringing him up. All the bloody time. He can't seem to go anywhere without a sympathetic look and a gentle, 'Are you okay?' And of course he's not okay, of course he isn't, but instead of leaving him to deal with it they all poke their noses where they aren't wanted. But even when he does find himself alone, and without distraction, his mind always seems to wander back to Sherlock anyway.

'You just had to go and fucking die, didn't you?' he whispers to himself at night. 'It wasn't enough that you were the centre of all the bloody attention when you were alive. No, you had to go and jump off a fucking building!'

And then he cries, only they aren't tears of sadness, but of anger.

'This is all your fault! Reducing my life to sodding shit, not letting me do anything without you somehow coming into it! _I hate you!_'

Sometimes, when he's in one of these moods, he'll throw Sherlock's possessions around the flat. He shouts then, shouts at Sherlock for anything.

'You left me! _Why did you leave me?_'

'I hate you so much. You have no idea how much I hate you.'

'What was the point in it all? Why did you even let me into your life? What could someone as cold and mechanical as you possibly want from me!'

Very, very rarely, he shouts the truth.

'You sodding _knew_ how important you were to me. You must have. And you did it anyway, you selfish bastard! You knew, and you did it anyway!'

'_You know why I hate you. You know why. Because I fucking loved you.'_

More than once, Mrs Hudson has crept upstairs after the shouting has ceased, and found him lying on the floor, tears staining his cheeks. She gets him to bed, tells him to sleep, and hopes it won't happen again. But of course, it does, every time.

She pretends she doesn't hear what he shouts. Pretends she doesn't know just how much he loved Sherlock.

How much he still does.

It breaks he heart to see the agony this man goes through every day, and she's one of the few people who doesn't continually bring Sherlock's death up. Not just because it causes her pain, too, but also because she can see that he needs to be without that for a while, or he's going to break.

She's probably the only reason he hasn't moved out of Baker Street yet. She keeps him sane.

Eventually, the anger begins to fade. The shouting ceases, the breaking stops. He starts to put the flat back together again. Downstairs, Mrs Hudson breathes a sigh of relief. But it isn't over yet. Not by a long way.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please review, it really does motivate me to write :D I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible, and I hope you enjoy a slightly different writing style (it's KCornish13's first chapter).<p>

Iliketotastetherainbow x


	3. Bargaining

Hey, well ... I'm KCornish13, and I'll be writing the next three chapters of this amazing story of iliketotastetherainbow's, I hope that you won't hate it now. Anyway on with the chapter.

I own nothing.

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><p><em>I've been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see<em>

_Painted faces fill the places I can't reach_

_You know that I could use somebody_

_You know that I could use somebody_

_Someone like you and all you know and how you speak_

_Countless lovers under cover of the street_

_You know that I could use somebody_

_You know that I could use somebody_

_Someone like you._

_** - Use Somebody, Kings Of Leon** _

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><p>Slowly John begins to heal, and whilst he still screams and cries, it's nowhere near as often as it's previously been.<p>

He firstly takes over Sherlock's post of consulting detective. He solves cases, and helps the police when they fail in their duties, just like Sherlock had. But, however many cases he solves, none of it makes him feel good, because he knows as does Lestrade, and the rest of the police force, that he isn't as good as Sherlock, and Sherlock could have done it at ten times the speed he had.

Sometimes he'll be stuck, and asks Sherlock to help him. Sometimes he knows he is missing the obvious, and he can almost see Sherlock's impatience. Sometimes he sees things that no-one else had, but none of it matters because he knows that Sherlock knows that already. Sherlock knows everything, doesn't he? So doesn't he know that John needs him?

Maybe if John solves cases and tries to be like Sherlock, he'll come back. But that hasn't worked. Maybe if he's awful and slow and bad at it he'll come back. But then Sherlock always had thought him slow. Maybe if he gets a new flatmate Sherlock will be jealous, maybe if he gets injured he'll be worried, maybe if he jumps off a building Sherlock will stop him, maybe if he just keeps trying Sherlock will come back. Maybe.

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><p>Thank you for reading this, and I'm very sorry it's been a while since iliketotastetherainbow's chapter. I'll try to get the next one out soon.<p>

Love KCornish13


	4. Depression

So hello, I'm here again whether you like it or not. I won't delag with the chapter.

I own nothing.

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><p><em>I should ink my skin with your name<em>  
><em>And take my passport out again and just replace it<em>  
><em>See I could do without a tan on my left hand where my fourth finger meets my knuckle<em>  
><em>And I should run you a hot bath and fill it up with bubbles<em>

_'Cos maybe you're loveable and maybe you're my snowflake_  
><em>And your eyes turn from green to grey in the winter I'll hold you in a cold place<em>  
><em>And you should never cut your hair 'cos I love the way you flick it off your shoulder<em>  
><em>And you will never know just how beautiful you are to me<em>  
><em>But maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up<em>  
><strong>- Wake Me Up, Ed Sheeran<strong>

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><p>As the time between May and December passes John feels more and more numb. Nothing matters as much as it once did. His life slowly and softly turns to nothing.<br>He can no longer bring himself to get up in a morning and do something. He doesn't see the point of going to work. He doesn't feel like eating, or even updating his blog. Nothing matters to him anymore; it's all slipping away as if every second without Sherlock is making him loose all of himself, piece by piece.  
>As he does less and less, the more time he spends thinking about Sherlock. The way his eyes grew distant when he was lost in thought, the way his hair fell in out-of control curls, the way that no matter what mood he was in he could always annoy someone, the way he always was confident about everything, well, until the very end.<br>He begins to wonder about what would happen if their whole lives had been reversed, and he was a man of pure genius. Would Sherlock make him a cup of coffee in the morning? Would Sherlock trust his every word? Would Sherlock follow him to whatever crazy place he went to?  
>Then again, did it matter? Did anything matter?<p>

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><p>I apologise for the long wait, I have no excuse. I hope you enjoyed this,<br>Love KCornish13


	5. Acceptance

Well this is my final chapter then there is another one by iliketotastetherainbow . This is set to the song hopipolla, which the words are Icelandic, which is why they're not on here, however do listen to the song, as it is brilliant.

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><p>Mrs Hudson is the first thing that makes any impression on him. After months of feeling nothing, she is the first person to make him regret how he's acting. He knows it's hurting her, but it's not his fault that he feels like this. It was always his.<p>

In the numbness of the past few months John's come to the conclusion that everything is Sherlock's. This doesn't anger him, or hurt as it might have done in the past, it's just a fact. Just cold, solid logic.

Mrs Hudson decides that John cannot keep living this way. With no knowledge of how to get him to feel again, she does the same thing that she does to relax. Go for a walk. She walks with him every day through a garden. She knows that he doesn't see the point of it, but she is grateful for him doing it anyway. Maybe he still feels something deep inside.

She notices small improvements in his behaviour. He cleans the flat, goes to work, gets out of bed, and always goes out for a walk. He begins to slowly see reason in things, and he slowly cautiously begins to let things back into his life. Just small insignificant things, but they're there none the less.

It's as he's walking on a cool afternoon in April, that he sees something. He doesn't want to believe it in case it isn't right, but he knows he saw a tall figure, with black curly hair in the garden.

John doesn't go back to the garden.

He walks through another park. Two weeks since he saw the figure. Behind a tree he sees a movement. Someone watching him. A small spark of hope lighting in his chest, he moves toward the tree. When he reaches it there is nothing there. He turns, dejected. He walks towards the gate, but is stopped before he takes more than ten steps. He is there.

He turns, willing himself to walk away. But he cannot. He approaches him. He is stood behind him.

"John."

The numbness has gone. An emotional war rages inside of him. He turns around and looks to the man. Anger wins. John punches him. Then he walks away.

His voice follows him home. He tries to stop him. Tries to explain. Tires to apologise. To John he must be invisible, or he does not know what he will do.

He reaches the flat. Opens the door. Picks up his car keys. Gets in the car. And drives away. John does not and cannot look back.

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><p>Well, you lovely people, I'm sorry for not updating but here is the final chapter from me. And from now on we're back to iliketotastetherainbow. Thank you so much for reading.<p>

Love KCornish13


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